


I will bring you flowers

by k_e_i (dhiskey)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, IwaOi Week 2020 (Haikyuu!!), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27917353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhiskey/pseuds/k_e_i
Summary: 5 times Haijime breathed petals.1 time he didn't.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 11
Kudos: 65
Collections: IwaOi Week 2020





	I will bring you flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Ti porterò dei fiori](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483791) by [k_e_i (dhiskey)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhiskey/pseuds/k_e_i). 



> IwaOi Week 2020 | Day 5: 5 things (5 + 1), unrequited love diseases

**1.**

The first time Hajime coughed a small purple petal was when he was six. He and Oikawa were arguing, a silly squabble that ended in insults and screams in the kindergarten playground.

“Godzilla isn't stupid, you are! You and your stupid inexistent aliens!”

Oikawa clenched his fists, frustrated, and with a sudden rush he lunged at him giving him a push that made him fall to the ground. It hadn't hurt, at least not physically.

“You are no longer my friend!” he hissed through clenched teeth, those small fists vibrating on each side of his body, his gaze bright and determined.

The teacher intervened before Hajime could answer, reproaching them for their attitude. Her words soon turned into a monotonous chant, in the background to Hajime's confused thoughts, punctuated by the pounding of his heart. His chest hurt, right in the middle, where his heart was beating and air swelling his lungs — or at least he tried, he realized, starting to sweat as his breaths got harder and more forced.

When the teacher let them go Oikawa left without even looking him in the eye, and Hajime ran across the yard, behind the lilac bush where they used to hide. He crouched behind the branches just in time, his back shaking with sudden, angry coughs. It burned, as if something was stuck in his throat. He tried to get rid of it, almost causing himself to vomit.

He only recovered when he managed to spit something slimy into the palm of his hand. He opened his eyes and recognized a petal.

It was lilac.

**2.**

The first time Hajime was forced to miss school because of flowers was when he was thirteen. It was almost break time and Oikawa, sitting on the desk next to his, was staring absently out the window with his pen poised on his curled upper lip.

He nudged him in the side before the math teacher noticed. There was an important game coming up and there was no need to risk disciplinary notes. 

“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa protested softly, straightening his torso and rubbing his side. The pen had fallen into his lap.

“Pay attention, instead of fantasizing.”

“Just because you have nothing to fantasize about it doesn't mean that others can't” was his friend's arrogant reply, his lips stretched into one of his smirks, the ones that always made Hajime roll his eyes.

“What the hell do you mean, idiot?”

“That I have a date with a cute girl this afternoon. Nao-chan from II-B, you know? I bet you're jealous, huh?” he chuckled like an idiot.

“Shut up, Shittykawa!”

He looked away from the idiot's stupid expression before giving in to the urge to slap him. He wasn't jealous — as if — he was angry, he realized. And it wasn't like the irritation he usually felt when Oikawa pulled one of his usual stunts, or the frustration after a defeat, or any other negative feeling he'd ever felt before; it was a throbbing burning that blossomed in his chest like a flower, a corolla that slowly opened and crushed his chest in a vice.

The bell rang, thank goodness, and he rushed to the bathroom as fast as he could. He pushed open the cubicle door, leaning over the toilet without even stopping to close it behind him. The cough squeezed air, tears, saliva... petals from his body.

With a trembling hand he picked one up, looking at it scared and incredulous.

Lilac.

He came home before class was over, making an excuse to his parents, and spent the rest of the day on the internet looking for answers.

**3.**

The first time Hajime spoke to a doctor about Hanahaki disease was when he was fifteen. After an afternoon spent listening to Oikawa on the phone pining for yet another girl who had cruelly left him, he had had a particularly violent coughing fit.

He had a method of not letting his parents hear: he took a pillow and pressed his face against it, drowning out the noise while containing the petals.

Several had come out this time, all shiny with mucus but fresh and vivid. They almost seemed to want to scoff at his deteriorating health with their immaculate appearance. He had collected a handful, put them in a bag, and had left the house to go to Matsukawa.

“Oh, hi Hajime-kun. Were you looking for Issei? I'm afraid he’s n—”

“I was looking for you, Matsukawa-sensei. Can I come in?”

The man invited him into the house, his brow furrowed in amazement. He made him sit on the sofa in the living room, offering him a glass of water which Hajime refused.

Without wasting time, he placed the bag of petals on the coffee table. “It's Hanahaki, isn't it?”

The serious look the doctor gave the lilac petals was the confirmation he needed. He was not a fool, he had documented and had come to the most plausible conclusion on his own: Hanahaki's disease, an extremely rare disease that manifested itself in the case of unrequited love with floral growths in the bronchial tree, which as they grew choked the affected person. Life expectancy was never very high.

“Hajime, you—”

“No, no! They belong to a friend of mine who… well, one day I saw him coughing up these petals and I picked them up. I just wanted to understand...”

“Your friend, Hajime, should go immediately to see a specialist, possibly in a hospital where there is the possibility of instrumental diagnostics, a chest x-ray for example.” Matsukawa-sensei adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, looking at him almost sternly.

Maybe he realized that it was a lie, or maybe he just suspected it, but Hajime had stopped paying attention to his words. He assured the man that he would report those suggestions to his friend and hastily took his leave, taking back the bag of petals.

The thing that upset him most about that situation was not the prospect of suffocating to death, but the realization that he had done nothing but postpone. It was obvious, after all.

He had Hanahaki's disease.

He was in love with Oikawa Tooru.

**4.**

The first time Hajime saw the flowers in his chest with his own eyes was when he was sixteen. A bad cold had turned out to be bacterial pneumonia, a frequent complication of Hanahaki's disease.

The doctor scrolled through the CT images, focusing on the scans in which the silhouettes of petals or bulbs were clearly visible. Hajime was nodding, but all he could see were two white trees with lots of branches. Perfect for flowers to grow on, in a way.

“Tomorrow you will be discharged, but you will have to continue antibiotics and cortisone for at least a week” the man informed him after closing the window with the radiological examination, “and of course absolute rest until the checkup in ten days.”

No training, then. Hajime took the blow without showing it. Not that it mattered...

“Furthermore, you will have to be careful to avoid the triggers of the attacks, Iwaizumi-kun. I know this is a difficult disease to manage, but next time simple pharmacological therapy may not be enough.”

He nodded and thanked him politely.

He knew very well he had to be careful, but it was easier said than done. He shouldn't have punched Oikawa in the courtyard, and ended up beating him up in the torrential rain, two bodies tossing in a mud puddle. He shouldn't have, he repeated himself constantly, but this time Oikawa had really made him lose patience.

_ “If you keep exaggerating like this, you'll really hurt yourself, moron! That knee needs rest!” _

_ “Now you've got me fed up!” I know well what my limits are, how far I can go. Mind your own business!” _

_ “I care about you, asshole!” _

_ “No need, thanks. You can’t tell me how much and how I should train. You’re nobody!” _

Falling in love with Oikawa was the worst thing that could ever have happened to him, yet every time he thought of him — even with his face twisted with anger, his features stained with mud and resentment — a smile would come to his lips.

What a silly thing, love.

**5.**

The first time Hajime was intubated was when he was eighteen. He was supposed to be at the graduation ceremony with all his schoolmates, and instead he had nearly drowned in his own personal spring.

He and Oikawa had found themselves alone in the gym, a last goodbye before leaving high school behind. They had had the same thought, nothing to be surprised about. Oikawa had shining eyes and like every time he tried to keep his emotions at bay he began to speak freely, mixing anecdotes with hopes, fears with promises.

_ “It's really the end, huh?” _

The only words Hajime could hear, heavy as anvils, sharp as blades. He had prepared for that day, he had convinced himself that he was ready for that cumbersome and definitive point.

He was wrong.

He knew he was in a hospital bed, attached to a monitor and IV, but he couldn't hear the fabric of the sheets on his skin or the rhythmic beeps of his vital signs; he knew he was there, yet he wasn't. He could only think.

The image of Oikawa with his back turned, his figure tall yet so small, was still vivid in his mind. It almost felt like he could lift a hand and touch it. His hair was soft, a feeling he knew well. He wanted to dip his fingers in it for the last time.

He wondered if he would wake up.

Then he wondered if it was worth it.

Something warm wet his cheek.

**1.**

When Hajime opened his eyes he had to blink for a long time before he could get used to the light. It was dawn, judging by the color of the slice of sky that could be seen from the window. The clock hanging above the hospital room door read 6:25 am.

He moved a hand to reach the bottle of water next to the bed, and only then he noticed the person sitting on a plastic chair, his torso bent forward and his head resting on the edge of the mattress: Oikawa.

He slowly pulled his hand out from under his and he kept sleeping. He must have been exhausted. How long had he been there?

Hajime's thoughts froze as he came to the most obvious conclusion: if Oikawa was at his bedside, it meant he knew the truth.

“Are... are you awake?”

Hajime sighed, eyes closed, and nodded.

“You don't have to stress, the doctors were clear. You don't have to say anything, you don't have to...” he broke off, pausing for a moment before continuing, “when you collapsed on the ground throwing up flowers, when you were intubated and you didn't answer me, when...”

He opened his eyes, pointing them at the disordered and unmade figure that was Oikawa. He had dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair, untidy clothes. He had never seen him cry like that, silently, afraid.

“Why didn't you tell me anything, Hajime?” he whispered.

His throat was burning madly, but he forced himself to speak anyway: “Because I didn't want you to feel guilty, or forced to help me, or...”

This time it was he who hesitated. He needed strength, but he felt like a wretch; he needed the energy and determination that accompanied him effortlessly on the playing field.

“Because I love you and I didn't want to ruin your life.”

“And you thought that by dying you wouldn't ruin it?”

“That was never the plan. I was thinking of leaving after high school. Scientific research says that physical detachment from the triggering cause of Hanahaki's disease leads to a marked improvement in symptoms, in some cases to complete regression. Then, over time, the feelings fade and healing bec—”

The slap Oikawa threw at him took him by surprise, causing him to fall silent.

“You don't know me at all, Hajime. You don’t understand anything.”

Oikawa got up from his chair, wiping his tears with a sleeve, and rushed out of the room. Iwaizumi followed him with his gaze, cheek throbbing and warm, and then his eyes fell on his hands lying in his lap.

He braced himself for the impending cough attack, telling himself that even that day like any other was good to stop suffering.

The cough did not come.

He caught a spot of an all-too-familiar color at the foot of the bed, near the chair. Oikawa had forgotten his bag, and a sprig of lilac lay on top of it.

It was the last time Hajime saw those flowers.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So sorry, it was supposed to be written for yesterday but I'm slow af~  
> Also, translating from my mother tongue to English is hard. ;-;


End file.
